


Disfavour

by spowell Count Dracula series (SPowell)



Series: Count Dracula [20]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Biting, Bondage, F/F, F/M, Humiliation, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Pet, Vampires, Voyeurism, Werewolves, Whipping, dark!fic, dub con, enslavement, evil!Merlin, non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Count%20Dracula%20series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur falls into disfavour with the Count. Gwendolyn succumbs to the three sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disfavour

**Author's Note:**

> I hope all of you read the entry called "D" in the correct order. I somehow failed to mark it as part of the series when it was first posted.  
> Thank you to those of you who have commented and encouraged me.

Arthur came in long stripes over the Count’s chest as Gwendolyn gaped from the doorway. Dracula’s fingers pressed harder into Arthur’s hipbones and with a strangled gasp, he emptied himself inside Arthur, who sagged forward into his arms.

When Arthur came to himself again, Gwendolyn and Morgana were gone.

“Count…”

Dracula ran his fingers through Arthur’s sweat-soaked hair.

“Don’t call me that. We are lovers and blood mates.”

“What shall I call you?” Arthur tried to remember the Count’s given name. “Vlad?”

Dracula made a sour face. “No. If you cannot call me by an endearment, you shall call me A Mea.”

“A Mea,” Arthur repeated, staring up at the Count’s face from where his head rested on his mate’s shoulder.

The Count kissed Arthur’s forehead. “Yes. Mine.”

Arthur took a breath. “A Mea…I am concerned.” He chose his word carefully. “Will Morgana bite Gwendolyn?”

Arthur watched the Count’s chest rise and fall with each breath. The pool of Arthur’s release on the Count’s chest glowed pearlescent in the moonlight from the window.

“Perhaps,” the Count said presently.

Arthur shuddered and felt his lover’s body tense.

“Tonight we go to a dinner party,” the Count said in a clipped voice.

“A dinner party?”

Dracula reached down to cup Arthur’s arse in an unmistakably proprietary manner. “Yes. Now get dressed and go see about the girl. If Morgana hasn’t taken her, you may try to convince her to leave the area for good. It is your last chance.”

Arthur scrambled up from the bed and began to fumble into his clothes, the Count’s eyes watching him the entire time, hands tucked behind his head and entire nude body on display. Arthur felt himself hardening at the sight, and the Count smiled a slow, delicious smile. Arthur determinedly continued dressing, knowing this was his final chance to save Gwendolyn.

He practically ran from the room.

Halfway down the passage, he ran into Morgana.

“She wants to see you.”

“Did you…did you…”

Morgana sneered at him. “No. She’s in the library.”

Arthur continued down the passage and fairly tripped down the stairs. He came to an abrupt halt just inside the door of the library, remembering exactly what Gwendolyn had witnessed. She sat ramrod straight in a chair, tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Gwendolyn.”

She didn’t turn, but remained staring into the fire.

“I know ours wasn’t a passionate courtship,” she said in a strained voice, “but I’ve always loved you, Arthur.”

He came to kneel at her feet. “And I you, Gwendolyn. As a sister. And perhaps we would have been happy together—once. But it’s too late for that. I want you to get away from this place.”

She chose to ignore the second half of his statement and concentrate on the first. Her dun-coloured eyes met his in consternation. “A sister? That’s all you thought of me, then? I had no hope of ever seeing the desire in your eyes that I just witnessed in that room upstairs?”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. The truth would undoubtedly hurt her.

“Gwendolyn.” He grabbed her upper arms and pain immediately raced through his veins. He let her go. “You must get away from here. Leave London. Leave Europe. There’s nothing for you here but danger.”

“Arthur, have you always had this proclivity? Toward men?”

Arthur sighed. “No.”

“No?”

“It’s him. Just him.” He got to his feet and paced the room.

She stood. “I’ll leave this place.”

Arthur stopped and looked at her, his heart lightening.

“If you’ll come with me.”

His countenance fell. “I cannot, Gwendolyn.”

She came forward. “Of course you can, Arthur. We’ll leave together.” She picked up his hand, shocking him by placing it on her breast. He could just barely feel the peak of her nipple under her layers of clothing. Never in all the years they had known one another had she done anything so daring and improper. “Ours could be more than a fond relationship. I know it could. Come with me.”

Searing pain broke through Arthur’s shock, coursing through him as though white hot pokers were being applied to his vital organs. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Gwendolyn must have taken this as a fight against temptation for suddenly her other hand boldly touched his crotch.

_Mine, mine, mine…A mea._

The words reverberated in Arthur’s mind, the voice the Count’s.

“Gwendolyn.”

Morgana’s voice brought Gwendolyn’s hands away from Arthur, who opened his eyes to see the three sisters in their gauzy clothes standing just behind Gwendolyn, three sets of arms reaching out to her.

“He doesn’t want you,” Morgana said. “He belongs to the Count.”

Arthur was sweating from the relief of having Gwendolyn’s hands off him. He backed away until he stood flush with the wall.

“Is this true?” Gwendolyn asked Arthur. He nodded.

“Go. Leave the country,” he told her. “Please. Do it for me.”

Gwendolyn turned and looked at the sisters, taking in their attire for the first time. Her face showed her confusion.

“Run, Gwendolyn,” Arthur told her. “Leave this place!”

She turned back to look at him. “But you…”

“It’s too late for me,” he insisted. “I want to be here. Go!”

Morgana stepped forward. “We can show you things you’ve never thought possible.”

Yvette smiled coyly. “Many things.”

Marcella nodded. “So many things.”

“You must know now he never loved you. You never would have known real desire and satisfaction with him. You can’t leave now, Gwendolyn. If you do, you’ll never taste the truth.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Arthur shouted. “Run from here!”

Gwendolyn seemed mesmerised. She stared at the sisters, and to Arthur’s horror, the women began to disrobe.

Yvette took one of Gwendolyn’s hands and placed it on a creamy white breast, thumb just touching the pink areola.

“Come with us, Gwendolyn,” she implored. Gwendolyn brushed her thumb over the nipple, eyes blinking owlishly.

Marcella went to stand behind Gwendolyn, pressing her smooth, nude body to Gwendolyn’s clothed back and whispering in her ear. “Come with us.”

Morgana put out a hand, entreating. Her body seemed to glow in the low light of the fire in the grate. Her round breasts were lovely to behold, her belly smooth and slightly rounded beneath the navel, the V between her legs completely bare with an inviting slit up the centre. Gwendolyn took Morgana’s hand and together the four ladies left the room.

Arthur watched for a moment in dismay, but he knew he had to get back to the Count; he felt the pull like a tug to the intestines. Stumbling, he found the stairs, but in his agonised hurry, he went to the wrong floor. He found himself in a large room with all kinds of odd furniture and straps hanging from the walls. Elyan hung bound and gagged, eyes glazed over, on an X-shaped contraption, arms and legs spread.

“What is this?” Arthur demanded when he spotted Leander and Will sitting nearby.

“This is the playroom,” Leander said. “Hasn’t my cousin introduced it to you yet? It’s Carfax Manor’s version of the dungeon.”

“Why is Elyan bound?” Arthur’s eyes swept over the man, whose cock and balls were neatly tied with leather and the rest of his body covered with what looked to be bite marks.

“Just a bit of respite in our game. If you’d like to watch, we’ll be resuming in a few moments. Will’s mouth needed a bit of a rest.” Leander squeezed Will’s arse before giving it a resounding smack.

One part of his body heating up as the rest of it became clammy and cold, Arthur turned and fled the room.

When he finally reached the Count again, Arthur found him dressed and frowning deeply.

“Take a bath,” Dracula told Arthur before turning away from him.

Arthur turned and walked into the lavatory to find the claw-footed porcelain tub already filled with steaming water. He disrobed, and when he sank into the fragrant bath, his brand burned horribly and he cried out. The Count walked in and stood staring down at Arthur for long moments before speaking.

“I had a different scenario in mind for tonight—presenting my blood mate to my friends and colleagues. But you had to go and let her touch you---you had to touch her _breast._ Her foul _nipple._ If Morgana wasn’t so fond of it, I’d cut it off.”

Arthur blanched.

“Now you will go as my pet and learn the real difference between mate and pet. Then perhaps in future you will cherish your position and not defy me. You will find your attire on the bed. Put every last bit of it on and wait for me, kneeling on the carpet. If you do not, I will have Cenred whip you until his arm is sore. Do you understand me, Arthur?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…A Mea.”

The Count smiled rather evilly. “Ah. Not tonight. Tonight it will be _Master_.”

Arthur swallowed, a tremor running through him. “Yes, Master.”

With that, the Count turned and left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> A mea=Romanian for "mine."


End file.
